The question ain't if but when, the sea will boil, the sky will fall
by Redonkgirl99
Summary: Jim was the White Knight. Cobblepot was the Snake. Selina was the Cat. Fish Mooney was the White Queen. Nygma was the Sphinx. Bree knew this. The only person she didn't seem to know was herself. Everyone else had varying views on that too. The Martyr The Pawn. The Orphan of War. Female!Bruce/Jerome.


_Jim was the White Knight._

_Cobblepot was the Snake._

_Selina was the Cat._

_Fish Mooney was the White Queen._

_Nygma was the Sphinx._

_Bree knew this._

_She wasn't entirely sure how she knew this or what it meant, but she knew it was important._

_The only person she didn't seem to know was herself._

_Everyone else had varying views on that too._

_The Martyr_

_The Pawn._

_The Orphan of War._

Bree was on the run again.

This time, it seemed to be caused by her snooping in Wayne Enterprises involvement with the underworld.

And, this time, there wasn't any Cat to show her how to navigate the city.

Bree's first order of business was to get changed; even a "Rich Bitch" knew better then to wear a dress in a seedy part of Gotham. She quickly purchased some clothes from a consignment shop with an owner that didn't even look up when she walked out in stolen clothes.

Her second order was to find a place that she could think about her options without getting caught.

She found that place quickly.

As she paced on one of the many rooftops, she considered her choices.

She could go home, but she tossed that idea out immediately.

She could go to the GCPD, but… this wasn't like with Cat, that was the underworld setting hit men on a thief that no one was going to miss. Now, this was Wayne Enterprises trying to kill a young rich girl, they'd have to have quite of few cops on their side to accomplish that and get away with it.

She could find Cat. That one she considered, but she wasn't sure if Cat would help her after their last time they'd seen each other. Bree winced at the memory; rejection was one thing, disgust was another.

And, her last option; she could call Alfred or Jim and they would undoubtedly have her leave the city or, hell, leave the country.

For some reason Bree herself couldn't articulate, she couldn't do that, couldn't leave this city.

So, that left her with one choice; survive.

_What would Cat do?_

Well, Cat would go to her friends.

Bree didn't have friends.

And, even if she did, she couldn't go to them.

So, that was out.

It had taken her about four hours before the hunger eating away at her stomach and the repeated mantra of _This is what Cat would do _bent her morals enough for her to swipe some food.

It was pathetically easy.

Afterwards, she traversed the city she'd grown up in, but didn't know all that much about. She passed all sorts of people who didn't give her a second look, not even those who were obviously cops or pimps.

That night, she'd planned to sleep on a rooftop, but was side tracked when a young prostitute that really couldn't have been that much older than her struck up a conversation.

Her name was Crystal and she knew right away that Bree was new to the streets, but, unlike what Bree expected, Crystal was kind. She told her about being sent to Juvie and how once she'd gotten released she knew she'd never want to go back there, so she started working with her pimp.

"Listen kid, I didn't wanna be a hooker, but I also didn't want to go back to that place."

"Is being a pros- hooker really that much better than prison?"

"I got roughed up in prison, I get roughed up now. At least like this I get paid."

That's when Bree realized that the common disregard of her by everyone she passed wasn't caused by cruelty or apathy; it was caused by mercy.

That night, as she lay on a roof, he heard cries for help. She leaned over the edge to look down an alley to see two men with another man up against the wall. She knew she couldn't take them and was considering calling for the police when a cop came running up. One of the men walked up and spoke to him for a moment and the cop turned around and walked away like he hadn't seen anything.

Every single one of the of the mob lackeys, dirty cops, even some of the mob bosses insisted that this was the way the city worked.

_"Why don't they see it?" _Bree asked herself.

This way of life was unsustainable.

This city was on a knife's edge.

Things were changing; her own parents' death had proven that.

There's a war coming.

And she'd be damned if she was going to be a collateral damage.

She liked to think she gave them quite a chase when they found her.

But, in reality, she'd only lasted three days and she'd ran right into the warehouse the man had wanted her to run into. She knew this because when she entered she was greeted to the sight of two more men with knives to the necks of two women that, if Bree had to guess, were prostitutes.

One of the killers caught her attention; so far all she'd seen was large men that looked so obviously like ex-cons, but this guy… He was closer to her age then he was to the others, but that wasn't what really caught her attention. There was something about his eyes or his face structure or something, but…

He was visibly far more sinister than the others.

And far more dangerous.

One of the other men finally spoke

"Run and we slit these two throats. Come quietly and we let them go."

_What would Cat do?_

Run.

Cat would run and leave them to die.

_What would Jim do?_

Give himself up.

_What would Cobblepot do?_

Talk his way out of it.

_What would Fish Mooney do?_

She would use her power to get out of it.

_So what? You're going to play martyr and die for these hookers or are you going to run?_

A voice inside her head asked, sounding suspiciously like Cat's.

While martyr appealed to her more than collateral, she didn't want that either.

And, even though she cared and respected them far more than anyone else in the city, she didn't want to be Cat or Jim either.

And she knew that she could never be like Cobblepot or Fish Mooney.

She didn't want to die and she didn't want to slink away.

Her back pressed up against the wall in the warehouse, realizing that she was right in front of an electrical box

_She wanted to fight._

She tore out as many cables as she could, plunging the warehouse into darkness, before running and climbing one of the many shipping containers. She crept quietly as the men swore and turned on their flashlights.

Bree smiled to herself; that gave her the advantage.

She followed as one of the men split off from the others, quietly waiting for him to slow down.

She jumped down, landing directly on the man and hitting him on the head with the flashlight (and turning it off).

She climbed up a shipping container again and listened as the other two men found him.

"Crazy Bitch!"

Bree rolled her eyes; not crazy, just strategic.

The man broke off from the kid.

She took him down just like she had the other.

When the kid found him, she half expected him to either run for it or to get mad and run around.

She froze when she first heard it; a deep chill settling in her bones.

A high pitched screech of a laugh.

She shook herself out of the initial shock and slowly crept towards the laughter, but it stopped abruptly, and that's when she realized; there wasn't a flashlight on.

She quietly crept, looking for any sign of light when she felt arms wrap around her and through her off the container and into a folding table, which broke, sending her to the ground and the playing cards everywhere. Before she could recover and try to get away, the guy grabbed her neck (tight, but not tight enough to cut off all oxygen) and straddling her, making her acutely aware that she was hurt from the fall. He laughed again, but that wasn't really where her mind was as she felt pain shoot through her.

"I like you and I don't think I want to kill you, which is a new feeling," He said, his voice obviously insane as he reached and took one of the cards out of her hair, flashing the face of it at her for a second before reaching down and placing it in his pocket.

"Then what're you going to do?" Bree asked, her voice adequately carrying across the pain she was in.

He hummed dramatically as he sat back slightly and cocked his head.

"I guess I'm gonna let you go; I can tell the world is going to be far more fun with you in it."

"No ultimatum?" Bree asked suspiciously.

"What don't you trust me?" He asked, his voice sarcastic now, but still with a psychotic edge. He leaned forward so their faces were almost touching "That hurts."

"What do you expect me to think?"

"I expect you to think that God loves you very much to let you live despite the position you're in at the moment."

"Then why do I feel like this is going to come back to bite me?"

"Christ, woman," He said, lifting her head up slightly before slamming her head back onto the ground "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?"

Silence filled the warehouse, partly because the head banging had disoriented Bree far too much for her to give an answer and partly because she had just understood.

She understood why this whole experience had felt so right.

She understood who she was.

He cackled again.

"You're really not going to accept this unless I ask for something in return?" He laughed harder "Fine!"

He kissed her.

He kissed her far harder than what people would deem acceptable for a kiss, especially a first kiss.

When he pulled away, he chuckled low in his throat at her confused expression.

"See ya, Sweetheart."

Then he walked off.

Bree was managing to push herself up against one of the containers when the GCPD barged in. Jim ran up to kneel beside her. Even though she was fairly certain she was going to need all of the meds she could get her hands on, she smiled.

"What the hell took you so long?"

After three hours of being interviewed by Jim (she left out some bits of what happened), having medical examiner tell her to rest, and Alfred chewing her out, she found herself on the roof of her house. Alfred had already gone to bed, having warned her that if she ran off again that he'd kill her himself.

She smiled to herself; she'd just proven to everyone on the game board that she wasn't a martyr or a pawn. That, of course, meant more people would be trying to kill her, but now that she was allowed to play the game, she realized she could outplay them.

Of course she wouldn't tell anyone this.

Just like how she wouldn't tell anyone about finding a Joker card on her pillow.

But, for now, she was pleased.

She knew what she was and who'd she have to become.

And she knew that it was going to be hell.

But she knew that if she didn't that no one else would.

She wasn't the Pawn.

She wasn't the Martyr.

She wasn't the Orphan of War.

She wasn't the Cat.

She wasn't the Joker.

She wasn't the Sphinx.

She wasn't the Detective.

She wasn't the Snake.

And she wasn't the White Queen.

She would fight to her last breath for this city, and she knew she couldn't do that through the law.

She knew that this city needed more than what she had in mind, but she knew no one else was going to give this city a chance unless she did first.

She would be the protector Gotham deserved.

She would be the Dark Knight.


End file.
